A Waiting Game
by Fizz the Great
Summary: There is a case, and Sherlock is especially acting protective about it, something to do with strange men in identical black suits and dark sunglasses.


Sherlock had always kept a payphone in the flat. John wondered about it, a bit too much, even though it was just a payphone. Sherlock had it embedded to the wall in his bedroom; John only saw it once when Sherlock asked him to bring the case file to him.

He didn't realize it at first, but when he was moving out he sensed something off with the walls and turned to find a payphone. In a room. His flatmate's room.

Nobody used a payphone these days, much less keep one in their room. John didn't recall Sherlock ever calling someone in his room so John just crossed it off as an experiment. Sherlock constantly hid in his room, sometimes for hours or days, sulking, solving a case, in his mind palace, probably conducting experiments. But John still wondered.

There was a case. Sherlock was especially acting protective about it, something to do with strange men in identical black suits and dark sunglasses. He didn't let John interfere. It pissed him off. He insisted on going with Sherlock to investigate on the scene but Sherlock wouldn't let him. And so one morning, John woke up to find his flatmate gone. He wasn't too fazed, Sherlock had mentioned he was busy on a case, a solo case, so he might've left early to tend his businesses. He was still annoyed at Sherlock's habit of leaving without telling him, but this wasn't the first time, so John simply sent a text off to Sherlock. He started the kettle, collected today's newspaper, made himself tea, then sat down in his chair.

* * *

 _ **9:30 am**_

He checks his phone, yet gets no reply from Sherlock. He quickly sends off another text in case Sherlock hasn't received the first one then tucks his phone back and continues to read his newspaper.

10 am, he leaves the flat to go to the surgery.

12 pm, he glances at cafeteria clock as he finishes his lunch. He then checks his phone and sends Sherlock another text. Convincing himself that his flatmate's going to be okay, he continues with his work.

6 pm, John comes back from work. He expects the flat to be filled with Sherlock's violin but is disappointed to hear silence. He checks his phone again. No message. He decides to go prepare dinner and wait for Sherlock to come back.

6:30 and Sherlock still isn't back. He keeps on telling himself that Sherlock sometimes disappears for days, working on his cases. Instead, John busies himself with cooking the pasta.

6:40, he's done and leaning back on his chair, absentmindedly peering at the door. The dinner's ready and Sherlock should be back by now.

6:45, John eats dinner by himself.

7:10, John's at his laptop updating his blog, proofreading their latest case and preparing to post it.

7:35, John glances at the door, again.

7:36, he's starting a new Word document.

 _Sherlock's been acting a bit… strung up lately._

He pauses at the sentence. Glances at the door. Then turns his attention back to the screen.

7:50, he's already halfway through his post.

8:00 pm, John decides to clean up the kitchen, but not before checking his phone again and shooting off another text.

8:10, John dials Sherlock's phone number. His phone rings for a while before a monotone announces, _the caller is busy. Please try again later. If you wish to leave a voice message, please dial 1._

John listens to the full thing before hanging up and tossing it on the table. He checks his watch to see that it's already 8:11. The sun's gone completely outside and Sherlock isn't back yet. John silently reassures himself and mutters about killing his ignoramus flatmate when he gets back. He doesn't get this agitated when Sherlock's not here. But the mysterious case that Sherlock had tried so intricately to prevent him from being involved worries John.

8:12, John goes to watch crap telly.

At around 9:30, he hears the shrill ringing of a payphone. For a second, John thought it was coming from the TV until the sudden realization hits him. The sound is coming from the Sherlock's room.

John bolts upright. A dozen thoughts run through his mind but his actions are direct. Without much hesitation, he pushes his flatmate's door open. But what he prepared himself to expect was not what he had expected.

He stands at the doorway, frozen at the scene in front of him. Even in the dim light, he could see droplets of blood smeared on the floor.

"John," the figure says, as if he knew his flatmate was coming. And before John could barely get a word out, Sherlock disappears.

 **If many are interested I might continue...**


End file.
